Bound by Silence

The day passed in a blur for Alex, his mind still stuck on the conversation at The Mystic Bean. Vulnerability hung in the air between the team, but unity alone wouldn’t be enough. Bancroft was out there, pulling strings. Time was slipping away to uncover his plan.

As evening crept in, the office emptied. The usual crackle of magical energy faded, and the enchanted lights dimmed, flickering like stars. Alex remained at his desk, the file on unauthorized enchantments still open. His gut twisted—something was wrong at Magic, Inc., and it had only just begun.

Typically, he’d have packed up by now, headed to his cluttered apartment. But anxiety held him captive, rooting him to his chair. His scrying orb pulsed, casting eerie shadows on the papers, and tonight, something felt off—something he couldn’t shake.

He tapped the orb, scrolling through routine reports: minor spell infractions, botched teleportations, cursed vending machines. Then, a complaint caught his eye—confidential, about unauthorized magical activity in the lower levels of Research and Development. The details were vague, mentioning only a “discreet investigation in progress.”

His curiosity flared. He’d never seen a report like this, and it hadn’t gone through official channels. Alarm bells rang. He skimmed the file, but a warning flashed across the orb: “Blocked: Unauthorized Access!”

His pulse quickened. Rarely was anything blocked at his clearance. This was reserved for a select few.

“A discreet investigation?” he muttered, pushing his chair back. “More like a cover-up.”

Without hesitation, he grabbed his wand, pocketed it, and threw on his jacket. Whether this had to do with the surveillance spells, unauthorized enchantments, or something darker, the answers were likely buried below.

As the office emptied, Alex moved through the deserted halls, his steps muffled on the carpet. Enchanted quills hovered above desks, finishing paperwork in their owners’ absence. The fading light heightened the tension, each shadow seeming to hold a secret.

The elevator chimed softly when it reached the basement. Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, Alex tapped his badge against the crystal lock. The wards flickered weakly before the door slid open with a hiss.

The air below was cooler, heavier, thick with the weight of old magic soaked into the walls. The deeper he ventured, the quieter it became, unnervingly so.

Alex rarely came down here. Once, the labs buzzed with activity, but now most were repurposed as storage, forgotten. Only a few remained active, reserved for classified projects. He picked up his pace, following the directions from the encrypted report.

At last, he reached the lab mentioned in the complaint. Silence clung to the air as he neared the door. Sealed shut, its surface was etched with intricate warding spells, but they flickered weakly, like dying embers.

Someone’s been down here, and they’re not following protocol, Alex thought grimly.

He tightened his grip on his wand, raising it toward the door. The wards fizzled with little resistance, and the door groaned open. Darkness spilled out, thick and suffocating. The enchanted crystals on the workbenches barely glowed, their light failing to reach the corners of the room.

It was sterile, cold, far removed from the chaotic energy of the upper-level labs. The kind of place where dangerous magic was hidden away.

Alex’s breath caught as he stepped inside. The air felt ancient, magic coiling like a serpent ready to strike. His gaze fell to the floor—a circle of runes glimmered faintly. In the center stood a mirror, its surface rippling as though something slumbered beneath.

A figure loomed at the far end of the room, shrouded in shadow. Their voice, low and insidious, snaked through the air, magic crackling around them like static.

Alex froze, his grip tightening on his wand. The figure hadn’t seen him yet. He could retreat—alert Marcus, bring reinforcements.

But the figure turned. A hood obscured their face, cold, gleaming eyes locking onto Alex. For a split second, recognition flickered in his mind, then vanished.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the figure said, their voice echoing unnaturally.

Alex raised his wand, keeping his voice steady despite the fear twisting inside. “Neither should you.”

The figure smirked, raising a hand. Dark magic coiled from the mirror, slithering like living shadows. “Curiosity will get you into trouble, Turner.”

His heart stuttered. How do they know my name?

“Who are you?” Alex demanded. “What’s going on down here?”

The figure’s smile widened. “Wrong question. It’s not who I am. It’s who you are.”

Before Alex could react, tendrils of magic lashed out. His wand sparked uselessly as the darkness wrapped around him, cold and suffocating, pulling him toward the mirror. The surface shimmered like water, swallowing him whole.

For a breathless moment, the world went silent.

Then everything shattered.

Alex’s eyes flew open, his breath ragged. A biting cold clung to his skin, stiffening his muscles, as if the warmth had been leeched from his body. His mind spun, disoriented, struggling to piece together reality. This can’t be real. But the sensation of the ground beneath his feet said otherwise.

A desolate wasteland stretched into infinity, the earth beneath him scorched and cracked like the remains of some forgotten, cursed battlefield. Endless ash swirled in the stagnant air, mixing with the shadows that seemed to twist and writhe at the edges of his vision, never fully taking shape.

The air hung thick, oppressive. It clung to his skin like tar, every breath heavy and labored, as though it was fighting its way into his lungs. Worse, it pulsed with magic—old, primal magic that pressed against his chest like an invisible hand, suffocating him. The pressure grew with each heartbeat, tightening around his ribs, coiling around his throat. Panic clawed at him like a living thing, threatening to unravel him.

Above, the sky churned, a cauldron of dark clouds roiling violently, swollen with a storm that never broke. Lightning crackled within the clouds—jagged arcs of light, flashing but never striking. The whole scene felt unnatural, as though reality itself had frayed at the seams.

This isn’t real. It can’t be.

“Focus,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible above the rising wind. His hand trembled as he gripped his wand, the familiar feel of the wood grounding him for a brief moment. But his fingers had turned numb, the cold creeping into his bones, sapping his strength. He forced his grip tighter, until his knuckles went white.

You’ve survived worse.

But even as he thought it, doubt slithered into his mind. The magic here wasn’t like anything he had encountered before. It felt old, like something that had lived long before his world, predatory and patient. It wasn’t just around him—it was inside him, seeping into his veins, coiling through his very bones.

And it wasn’t kind.

The ground shifted under his feet, softening unnaturally, pulling at him as though the earth itself sought to drag him under. Each step was a battle, his legs feeling like lead. The charred soil stuck to his boots, a thick, clinging sludge that tried to root him in place with every move. His muscles ached, each motion a struggle, as though the very land sought to consume him.

The faint sound of broke through the oppressive silence, a low, droning sound that seemed to rise from beneath the earth, vibrating through his bones. At first, Alex thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. But then it grew louder—an unsettling chorus of voices, whispering, chanting. The words were foreign, guttural, a language older than anything he knew.

His heart pounded against his ribs, painfully reminding him that he was very much alive in this place. Whatever this place is.

Instinctively, he raised his wand, casting a dim, flickering light that barely pierced the gloom. The light wavered, weak, as though even the magic here was stifled by the suffocating darkness. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision—slithering shapes, too quick to pin down.

Then, a voice—too familiar to ignore—echoed through the void.

“Alex?”

His heart stuttered, the voice cutting through like a blade. Lila?

“Lila!” he rasped, his voice raw, scraping against his throat. He spun wildly, his wandlight flickering as he searched the darkness. “Lila, where are you?!”

Silence.

He stood frozen, listening, desperate for another sound, another clue that she was real, that she was here. But the void swallowed his words. No response.

It has to be her. How could she be here?

Panic chocked him, twisting his gut into knots. He stumbled forward, but the ground beneath him thickened, growing heavier, trying to pull him down. He strained against it, but the harder he fought, the stronger the resistance became.

“Lila!” he screamed, his voice cracking. But again, only silence met his call, as if her voice had been nothing more than a cruel echo.

The chanting swelled, louder now, each syllable slamming into his mind like a hammer. He clutched his head, stumbling, the wandlight flickering weakly. His every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to retreat into whatever corner of this nightmare offered safety.

But Lila’s voice still echoed in his mind.

He couldn’t turn back. Not when she might be out there, trapped in this hell with him.

Then, without warning, the chanting stopped. Silence crashed down. The sudden absence of sound was a shock, disorienting, as though the entire world had sucked in a breath and held it, waiting.

He wasn’t alone. He could feel it—a presence lurking just beyond his sight. It was there, watching him, and it was getting closer.

His heart thundered in his chest as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something moved—slow, deliberate, just out of reach.

Something watched him from the shadows.

And now, it had him in its grip.